Injury at Monmouth
by SunnyRea
Summary: John Laurens is injured during the battle of Monmouth. -historical RPF, LAMS-


Hamilton walks quickly through the lines of troops, still hot and sweaty from battle, dirt crusted on his boots and the remnants of gun powder under his nails. The entire Monmouth affair, from what Hamilton could see and the more he learns now, was a disaster. They were lucky to have not been completely destroyed on the field, what with General Lee's complete ineptitude to conger some sort of plan for his advance force. Hamilton quite wishes to say 'I told you so' to the General but his insubordination only goes so far. However, at present, the disorder and lucky turn of the battle to a mutual retreat of the British and Continental armies is not Hamilton's main concern. His goal, among the chaos of after battle, is to find John Laurens.

Hamilton keeps walking down a line of tents, soldiers talking to one another, some attending to minor scrapes or finding food to the sustain them after fighting. Hamilton hears arguments in the distance, the whinny of horses. With luck, one of those arguments involves Lee receiving a proper dressing down for his actions.

"Hamilton!" Hamilton turns at the call of his name to see Lafayette jogging toward him. "Comment allez–vous?"

"I am well now," Hamilton says, gripping Lafayette's hand briefly. "I was forced to leave the field after a fall from my horse but I am recovered."

Lafayette looks Hamilton up and down. "Except in pride perhaps at the state of this battle?"

Hamilton shakes his head. "It would have certainly fared far better had you retained the command Lee first refused."

"Pride bests all men."

Hamilton makes a disbelieving noise but he need not start a debate now on the natures of pride and command. "Have you seen Laurens?" Hamilton asks instead.

"Ah, you have not yet heard. "

"Heard what? "

Lafayette smiles. "Though I should be surprised you have not what with the volume of his voice."

Hamilton frowns. "Speak plainly, Marquis."

"He was injured on the field."

"Injured!" Hamilton twists around, trying to see where the temporary medical tent is pitched, if that is indeed where Laurens has been taken. Soldiers are sometimes seen to right on the field depending upon the wound's severity. Hamilton cranes his neck and wishes, not for the first time, that he were only a few inches taller. "Where is –"

"Just south, several rows down," Lafayette says with a gesture in the direction he mentioned. "You shall not miss it and you will certainly hear it beforehand."

Hamilton gives him a look. "I cannot tell if you jest or not."

"Both, my dear Hamilton. Off you go now."

"Je vous remercie," Hamilton replies as he turns away and hurries down the row.

Hamilton walks briskly out onto the larger path between the tents and billets of the brigades toward the medical tent he now sees in the distance. Many men died on the field today and many more will die from their injuries or disease or the oppressive heat; there is never a guarantee. He has a desire to run but does not wish to draw attention to himself or his distress.

"And I did not even ask..." Hamilton huffs at himself for failing to inquire from Lafayette as to the extent of Laurens' injuries.

Lafayette's mood appeared jovial so that should speak to the less serious nature of Laurens' injuries, should it not? As Hamilton approaches the medical tent, he hears it, just as Lafayette expressed. He hears moans and wails, even the exaltation of prayer, the sounds of human suffering and fear. Hamilton remembers the streets of St. Croix, broken buildings and rubble, the sight of a bloodied hand reaching out from under a demolished building too late for rescue. Hamilton stands still just outside the tent breathing deeply. He closes his eyes once then opens them again with determination. He has one goal, one person to find, here and now.

Hamilton runs into Tench Tilghman as he walks into the tent and down the line of sick beds – bloodied rags on small tables, wrapped around limbs and low lighting from too few lanterns. The heat inside the tent is somehow worse than outside, heavy and humid.

"Tilghman!" Tilghman turns at Hamilton's voice, a ledger in his hand and what looks like blood under his nails. "I am come to find Laurens."

Tilghman raises his eyebrows. "I have not reached the far side of the tent as yet, he could be there." Tilghman gestures over Hamilton's shoulder. "Dr. Cochran is in command of the wounded… as it were."

Hamilton nods a quick thank you then turns on his heel. He finds the aforementioned doctor, no coat with sleeves rolled up and sweat down his face, standing at a wooden table about waist high. Another man stands at the head of table holding down the shoulders of the poor soul lying on the table.

"Hold him still!" The doctor snaps at the frightened looking sergeant.

The man on the table still thrashes about, groaning in pain.

"God sakes man, if you should wish to be free of the bullet you must allow me to work!"

"Sir, he cannot hear, he's raving!" The sergeant implores, more afraid himself than perhaps the patient.

Hamilton rushes over and grabs the boots of the man on the table to help hold him in place. The doctor looks up at Hamilton in surprise then grins. He leans over the now far more subdued man and reaches into a wound in the man's thigh with metal forceps. The man groans loudly around a piece of wood fitted between his teeth. Hamilton turns his head away, thinks of the wide blue of the ocean, waves lapping against the hull of a ship, cool air, white sea foam as it reaches the shore.

"There we are!"

Hamilton looks back and the doctor holds a bloody musket ball up in the forceps. "You may keep your leg yet, my boy." He grins then he points at the solider holding the patient's shoulder with the dripping forceps. "Carter! See him bandaged."

He turns now to Hamilton. "Lt. Col. Hamilton, you were searching for me?"

"I am actually come to find Laurens, John Laurens."

"Ah yes, your fellow aide and a mouthy one too."

Hamilton frowns. "Sir?"

The doctor laughs. "You will find him down the line at the end with my surgeon aide, Smith."

"Thank you, Dr. Cochran."

Hamilton marches down the aisle, keeping his eyes forward and not on the bodies lying on either side of him. He hears someone call out to him but he does not stop. He would be little help to any of them. Most of the men he sees out of the corner of his eye sweat and shake. The heat has harmed more than even the bullet wounds in this battle.

As Hamilton nears the far end of the tent, he finally sees a familiar figure lying half propped up by his elbows on one cot.

"I am fine!" Now Hamilton understands Lafayette and the doctor's comments quite easily. "Let me be!"

"Colonel Laurens, you must –"

"Must rise now and find –"

"The bullet may not have pierced your –"

"Had you seen the state of this same arm at Germantown you would not coddle me so!"

"Laurens?"

Hamilton stops at the foot of the bed where a man, possibly Dr. Cochran's Mr. Smith or Dr. Smith as it may be, in his waistcoat and shirt sleeves, attempts to keep Laurens where he lies.

Laurens turns his head from the man he previously berated to Hamilton. Laurens' coat has been removed, as has his waistcoat and cravat so he wears only his shirt, breeches and boots. Hamilton sees a gash on his neck, which has left blood on his shirt collar. However, it is the angry blue and black bruise spotted with blood on his shoulder that truly attracts Hamilton's eye.

"You have been shot?" Hamilton exclaims in alarm.

"Yes," the man beside Laurens says.

"No!" Laurens counters.

Hamilton frowns and looks back and forth between them.

"You have been shot, sir," the man insists. "You may call it less than some –"

"Smith, I told you, as it is, I need not –"

"And you are warm with fever from the heat which is damage well enough I can tell you! You have a gunshot bruise on top of this. You believe you need only a bullet in your body to be truly injured?"

"I am well enough. Tend to my horse if you wish to find one with a true gunshot wound!"

"Colonel Laurens..."

"Hamilton," Laurens says with indignation. "Tell this man, I need not be confined to this bed, not when we have much to do now to resolve the disaster of this battle!"

Hamilton bites the edge of his lip for a moment then addresses the brave man dealing with Laurens. "I can attend to him at present if you have other patients who require you more."

Smith gives Hamilton a look that speaks volumes then nods. "Keep him abed and give him water."

Hamilton nods. "On my honor."

"Hamilton!" Laurens exclaims in annoyance as the man walks away.

Hamilton notices a folding canvas chair lying on the grass nearby. He picks up the chair, opens it then sits down on it beside Laurens' bed.

"What exactly is the state of you, Laurens? You are injured. You should rest here. Why do you berate the man attempting to aid you?"

Laurens sighs heavily and lies flat once more on his cot. "I am fine."

"Ah yes, bloody and bruised is fine."

"Far more so than most here." He gestures vaguely at the tent at large.

"You were shot?"

"Barely."

"Barely?"

Laurens gestures to his shoulder. "It has seen far worse."

Hamilton frowns. "You were either shot or not, Laurens, do not play this game with me." He leans forward. "Smith said you had a fever, are you…" He reaches out and places the back of his hand on Laurens' forehead. It does indeed feel hot. "Laurens..."

Laurens sighs but does not attempt to sit up again. He turns his head toward Hamilton. "I am fine. I shall recover."

"Your wounds?"

"My horse was shot out from under me." Hamilton's eyebrows fly up. Laurens reaches out and covers Hamilton's hand on his forehead then pulls it down to rest on his chest. "I was shot in the shoulder but it is a bruise not a true wound."

Hamilton looks at the spot on Laurens' shoulder, his skin dark from trauma and no doubt causing Laurens pain. "It seems enough a wound to me."

"It shall not match my scars from Germantown."

Hamilton squeezes Laurens' hand in his. He wants to touch Laurens' head again, as if he could gage the severity of the fever by touch alone. "And the fever?"

Laurens frowns. "Well, I was shot..."

"It is the heat," Hamilton corrects, "many have died from it before you."

Laurens huffs and bounces Hamilton's hand against his chest. "I am used to heat. I hail from South Carolina."

"Ah yes, because the heat can do you no harm then in the fury of battle and the height of summer?"

"I could rise and return to work this moment!"

Hamilton huffs and squeezes Laurens hand hard.

"Ow," Laurens says.

"Oh, that pains you, does it?" Hamilton says and has to contain a strong urge to jab Laurens directly in his wounded shoulder

"I did not say my wound did not pain me."

"But you are, as you say, 'fine.'"

"I am." Laurens glances to the side away from Hamilton. "Fine enough."

"Ah ha, there is your concession." Hamilton lets go of Laurens' hand and grips the edge of the cot. "It could have been far worse. Lafayette told me you were injured and I..."

He feared more, he feared blood, a broken body, blank open eyes staring at nothing, with Laurens dead before Hamilton could get to him. He feared...

"Hamilton." Hamilton focuses on Laurens' face again turned back toward him. Laurens looks up at him, his expression calm once more. "I shall recover in all swiftness, I promise you."

"Good. I shall hold you to that. You have promised me. You cannot decline in wellness now."

"I shall not, for I must be well soon to address the injuries General Lee has done to our forces in this battle!"

Hamilton blows out a breath. "Yes, Lee..."

Laurens makes a loud scoffing noise bordering on a laugh. "Oh, Hamilton, I do not know where upon the field you found yourself but I was in fair view to watch General Lee disgrace his rank, his command and our Excellency with his cowardice and ineptitude. I thank God we are all not dead or prisoners of the British in this moment."

"Indeed, I know of his mistakes and the fragmentation of the advance force. I will say His Excellency swore upon the sight of Lee's disorganized retreat."

Laurens pauses in his raving. "General Washington swore?"

Hamilton nods at Laurens gravely. "He did."

Laurens props himself up on his elbows, his furor returned. "Lee ordered a retreat when he could not organize his officers." Laurens waves his arm in the air to emphasize his points as he speaks. "All the advantage of a surprise attack and Lee could not rally himself to devise a plan of any sort."

"Laurens, lie down."

"Lee all but fell upon the field and asked to be taken prisoner by the British for his skill in commanding men in battle!"

"Laurens!" Hamilton puts a hand on Laurens' chest and pushes him down onto his back on the cot once more. "I understand your frustrations and you are not alone in them. General Lee acted most unbecoming of an officer and near disastrously to our entire force. But..." Hamilton rubs a small circle over Laurens' chest. "You need not relate to me all your concerns now. If you should remember why you lie where you lie."

Laurens frowns. "As I said, I could easily rise now and –"

"No."

"We both have work we will need to be –"

"No."

"Hamilton!"

"Laurens." Hamilton leans closer, his voice low. "You will not do such injury to my heart as to run about with a shoulder wound and a fever now, lest I fear you fall worse."

Laurens shuts his mouth and stares up at Hamilton. Neither moves or speaks for a moment. Finally Laurens nods. "I would not wish your worry."

"Then take care to stay where you are."

Laurens frowns but does not protest again.

Hamilton slides his hand up Laurens' chest and stops just below the bruise on Laurens' shoulder. The center of the wound is crusted with dried blood and breaks in the skin but certainly no hole where a bullet pierced flesh. The force must have been less than required or Laurens' coat helped stop some of the bullet's path.

Hamilton thumb rubs over Laurens' bared skin near his throat. He gestures to the gash on Laurens' neck with this other hand. "And this?"

"The fall from my horse."

"Of course." Hamilton thinks it prudent not to inform Laurens of his own fall from his horse on the field. Laurens is likely to jolt from his cot in desire to attend Hamilton in turn.

"Better than some I've had," Laurens continues lightly. "No twisted ankles or rocks prepared to meet my head."

Hamilton smiles but does not move his hand from Laurens' chest. He wishes he were able to close all Laurens' wounds, erase the purple and blue and black plastered over Laurens' skin. He would make him prefect and whole instantly had he the power.

Laurens pulls his hand up and grips Hamilton's other hand. "Stop that face. Do you see me bleeding now? Do you hear me crying out as these other men do?"

"The heat is –"

"Smith said my fever is less than most, I shall come out of it readily."

Hamilton sighs.

"I am well." Hamilton gives him a look and Laurens squeezes Hamilton's hand. "I am near well," he concedes, "and will be wholly so soon."

"Yes..."

"Yes, just so," Laurens emphasizes. "Your concern does me credit, to be sure, but you may ease your concern by seeing the state I am in here before you."

Laurens smiles and Hamilton wants to fall into the expression, do nothing else but sit beside Laurens until he sees the pallor of Laurens' cheeks bright and healthy once more.

"The appearance is far worse than the injury itself," Laurens continues, "You can see so."

"I can."

"Good."

"I only..."

Laurens watches Hamilton and waits.

Hamilton wants to tell him how he would feel if Laurens fell, how every time they are in battle together he is elated and terrified, how the sight of Laurens in this bed even with so surface an injury fills him with dread. He wants to tell Laurens that if Laurens should fall on the field, Hamilton would lie down with him.

Hamilton says, "I only want you standing once more by my side."

"I will be." Laurens squeezes Hamilton hand again.

"Good."

"I swear it."

"Good," Hamilton repeats.

Laurens gives Hamilton a wry look. "I could stand beside you now."

Hamilton sighs heavily but Laurens grins at him. Hamilton only glares back as seriously as he can. "Jest once more and I shall give you another wound to keep you in this bed far better."

Lauren gasps then smiles. "My Hamilton, such threats."

"I shall keep them."

"I believe you."

Hamilton grins then his expression softens and he rubs a line up and down Laurens' chest. "I could never do you harm."

Laurens stares up at him and Hamilton knows Laurens wants to kiss him. "I know."

Hamilton smiles back, thinks of times alone and the chance to have Laurens in his arms once more.

"Good." He pulls back and stands up from the chair. "Now rest and heal or I shall return with Lafayette."

Laurens settles back into his cot and scoffs. "A far worse fate."

They smile at each other, just watching, then Hamilton turns away, back out to work, Laurens safe behind him.


End file.
